


spinning with the stars above

by Anonymous



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017)
Genre: Assisted Suicide, Falling In Love, First Time, Illness, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, san junipero au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 06:27:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23466853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “Oh?” Elio asks. “And your form of rebellion is… what?"Oliver lights the cigarette and takes a long drag, before turning to face Elio. He doesn’t answer for a few seconds, just looks at Elio with a peculiar expression. He finally says, “I suppose you are my form of rebellion now.”
Relationships: Oliver/Elio Perlman
Comments: 11
Kudos: 56
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Trigger warning** : This fic will deal with topics such as terminal illness, death, and assisted suicide. If such topics might make you anxious or cause to feel upset etc. please avoid this fic. For me, personally, it's a cathartic exercise to write about such topics, but I understand that not everyone feels the same. Proceed with caution, please!
> 
> This fic was inspired by the Black Mirror episode San Junipero!

The club plays music from the 80s. Too much synthesizer for Elio’s taste, but he dances anyway, while casually observing the other dancers. His eyes are drawn to one of them in particular. He’s tall, towering over the others. He’s got to be least 6 ft 4, maybe even 6 ft 5.

He’s blond, athletic, and appears to be in his mid to late twenties, but that’s not exactly a surprise in San Junipero.

A new song begins, and Elio starts moving to the music as best as he can.

It’s not like he’s got anything to lose, he tells himself. He doesn’t want to let the night go to waste.

No, on the contrary, he intends to have fun. Preferably with the tall, blond man.

He dances his way through the crowd, intent on approaching the object of his desire. He’s never actually been clubbing in real life. If he went out and tried to get into a club, he’d probably get carded.

In San Junipero, there are no bouncers, and nobody wants to know how old you are.

If he were in a club in real life, Elio’s not sure if he dared approach a guy who looked as handsome as the man whose attention he’s trying to catch.

But, once again, this is San Junipero. Real-life rules don’t apply here.

The music is blaring from the speakers at a deafening volume as Elio successfully catches the eye of the blond man.

A few songs later, they’re moving together to the beat of the music, not in perfect sync, but close enough. Elio grins, enjoying being close to the blond man. It’s exciting.

When the blond man motions for them to take a break from dancing and have a drink at the bar, Elio gladly follows him, eager to get to know him better.

The blond man orders a Long Island Iced Tea and expectantly looks at Elio. Choosing to forego the alcoholic monstrosity his dance partner seems to prefer, Elio opts for a Spritz, his favorite from back home in Italy.

“What’s your name?” the blond man half-shouts so Elio can hear him over the thumping music. “I’m Oliver.”

So, his name is Oliver, Elio thinks. It’s a nice name, he decides.

“I’m Elio,” he yells back.

“What?”

“Elio!” he shouts, louder this time. “It’s Italian.”

They get their drinks from the bartender.

“Do you want to go outside for a while?” Oliver yells.

Elio nods, grinning. If this is the direction Oliver wants to take it, Elio sees no need to even get back inside the club for the evening. Spending time with Oliver alone sounds much more appealing than dancing on an over-crowded dance floor filled with drunk, sweaty people.

They grab their drinks and leave the club. A mild summer evening greets them. The air is filled with the fragrance of flowers in full bloom. Elio gives credit where credit is due – it’s all extremely well done. Too well done at times; after all, real life is not perfect. Elio won’t complain, though.

Speaking of perfect, Elio gives Oliver an appraising look. Outside, bathed in light coming from a streetlamp, he looks even more attractive than in the dim light of the club.

Oliver takes a sip from his glass. “Much better out here, right?”

Elio smiles. “Yeah, I really appreciate talking to you without having to shout.”

“You said you’re Italian?” Oliver asks. “Or is it just your name? Your English is flawless—"

“My dad’s American, my mother is half Italian, half French,” Elio explains. “My dad’s a professor, so we usually lived wherever he happened to teach. And what about you?”

“I don’t know, I’ve always described myself as the odd Jew out in a small town in New England?” Oliver replies, taking another sip of his drink. “So, Italy and France, huh? What’s it like? I’ve always wanted to travel, but it looks like I’m not going to get a chance… well, you know how it is.”

“I can show you if you want?” Elio offers. “I mean, it won’t be exactly the same, but my family owns a villa in Northern Italy, near Milan. It’s where I live when I’m here. Do you want to have a look.”

Oliver whistles appreciatively and winks at Elio. “Then I’ve only got one question: What are we still doing here?”

Elio smirks produces his car keys, and gestures for Oliver to follow him.

The drive to the villa passes quickly enough, but once they get there, Oliver seems to have lost all interest in the villa and his surroundings

Instead, his attention is focused solely on Elio. They’ve moved to the bedroom and even though they’re just kissing, for now, it’s  _ good  _ and  _ exhilarating _ and...

Elio pulls back and worries his teeth over his kiss-swollen bottom lip. “I know we don’t have much time,” he says, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “But I’ve never… that’ll be my first time with a guy. I thought you should know.”

Oliver reaches out to massage Elio’s shoulder. “No need to be so tense,” he says, pressing a kiss to the nape of Elio’s neck.

Elio can feel Oliver smile and a shiver of pleasure runs down his spine. Oliver’s breath is warm against his skin. The shivers intensify.

“Didn’t you have the opportunity before or am I your experiment?” Oliver mumbles.

His voice is low and just a little gravelly in a way that makes Elio’s mouth go dry and heat pool in his lower belly.

Elio turns around, slings his arms around Oliver’s neck and moves to straddle him. “I didn’t have the opportunity,” he whispers between hard and deep kisses. “Believe me, I want you.” He runs his hands through Oliver’s hair, pulling on it ever so slightly.

Oliver hisses, pupils dilated with lust, and flips them over, settling on top of Elio, pressing kisses along his jawline, neck, and shoulders.

Elio moans, running his hands over Oliver’s body. There are too many layers of clothing separating them, he wants to see everything, wants to feel it all…

“Take your shirt off,” he manages. It’s not a command, but a breathless whisper against Oliver’s cheek, the stubble scratching ever so slightly against Elio’s nose.

Oliver obliges, taking off the blue shirt he’s wearing, so Elio can finally, finally take in his form.

He runs his fingers over firm muscle and catches himself thinking that Oliver’s body looks like it belongs to a Greek statue sculpted by a master which has somehow been brought to life.

Oliver’s  _ beautiful _ .

As far as realizations go, it shouldn’t have been a monumental one. Anyone could see that Oliver was an exceptionally attractive man, even for San Junipero standards where everyone was young and beautiful…

Oliver chuckles. “Like what you see? I won’t lie, I like what _I_ see.”

Elio blinks, momentarily overwhelmed. Oliver’s skin is warm to the touch, Elio can feel the muscles of Oliver’s back shift under his skin and if he were to lay a hand on Oliver’s chest, he’d feel a steady heartbeat. It feels so  _ real _ .

Elio closes his eyes and kisses Oliver, losing himself the smell of pine fabric softener and perfume.

Oliver eagerly reciprocates the kiss until they’re both a panting mess of tongues, lips and eager hands roaming over their half-naked bodies.

Oliver asks if Elio would prefer to turn the lights out. “You said it’s your first time with a guy. I want you to feel comfortable, so I thought I’d ask,” he says.

Elio quickly shuts him up with a kiss. As far as Elio is concerned, getting to be with Oliver is probably a once in a lifetime opportunity and he’s hell-bent on remembering every second of it.

Being with a man is thrillingly different than being with a woman. Where the girls he’d been with had been soft curves, cute smiles, and warm embraces, Oliver is sculpted muscles, breathless laughter and an urgency that none of Elio’s other encounters had possessed.

Oliver is a little rougher than any of his past lovers, but Elio  _ likes _ it. Elio repays the roughness in kind, running his fingers through Oliver’s dark blond hair, tugging at it until Oliver hisses, kissing him with renewed desperation.

Reluctantly, Elio pulls away from Oliver to ask a decisive question. “How much time do we have left?” he asks, slightly out of breath.

Oliver peeks at his watch. “Not nearly as much as I’d like,” he admits, pressing a kiss to Elio’s collarbone. 

“Then we’d better get on with it,” Elio replies hurrying to lose the last of his clothes.

Oliver follows suit and they come undone in a tangle of limbs, moans and sighs, their naked bodies intertwined in each other. A promise to meet again next week flows from their lips as the clock strikes midnight and everything turns to black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's left kudos on the previous chapter! <3

_ One week later _

Elio is eager to get back to San Junipero in a way he’s never been before. His parents have started to catch on. The looks they’ve started to give him… well.

Elio can easily guess what they must be thinking – that he’s starting to like San Junipero more than life itself. That he’s made peace with it, that he’s given up.

It’s funny how an impending tragedy can sharpen your senses to an almost superhuman degree. His parents would never say it out loud, but Elio knows they’re worried he likes San Junipero to such an extent that he might consider speeding up the process to become a permanent resident as soon as possible.

It’s not too far from the truth, but Elio can’t bring himself to tell his parents.

He might be ready to let go, but his parents aren’t.

Not yet.

Instead, Elio takes a deep breath, meets his parents’ worried gaze and says he’s met someone in San Junipero.

He’ll be going on a date, that’s why he’s looking forward to Saturday night.

His mother nods, while a small tear is making its way down her cheek. His father sighs in relief.

He hugs his parents before leaning back in his bed, activating the tiny white disk that’ll connect him to the man-made paradise.

The only thing on his mind is Oliver.

Except, when Elio gets back to the club where they’d first met, Oliver isn’t there. Oliver can’t have forgotten about Elio, right? It’s only been a week.

Unless… no, Elio would have realized if Oliver hadn’t enjoyed his company, right? Remembering the night they spent together, Elio’s lips involuntarily curl into a wistful smile. He certainly wouldn’t have minded a repeat performance.

Just in case, Elio checks a few other places. Eventually finds Oliver in a run-down dive bar. He looks too tall for the barstool he’s sitting on and he’s nursing a beer bottle that’s two-thirds empty.

The music from the speakers is crackling slightly, providing the dead-beat patrons with forgettable rock songs about whiskey, women, and world-weariness.

Elio feels out of place.

“Hey,” Elio says to Oliver, who looks like he’d love to run away, but his back is to the wall and there’s no way to go but towards Elio.

“Hey,” Oliver echoes. His voice sounds rough and defeated.

“I thought we said we wanted to meet up again,” Elio says and hates himself for the whiny edge in his voice. Now Oliver is probably going to think he’s needy? Is there anything less sexy? “Did you change your mind? Did I make you uncomfortable and you decided you didn’t want to tell me?”

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable.” Oliver avoids Elio’s gaze, sighs and finishes his beer in a few large gulps. “But I thought you might have changed your mind.”

“Why would I?”

Oliver shrugs. “If you get to know me better, I don’t think you’re going to like what you’ll discover. It can… it’s pretty ugly.”

Elio holds Oliver’s gaze. “Try me,” he says.

Oliver takes a long look around. “I think we need to talk, but this isn’t the best place for a conversation like that.”

“No kidding,” Elio replies drily.

“I know a nice place on the beach?” Oliver offers.

Elio nods his acquiescence and together they leave the bar behind.

Oliver hadn’t been making empty promises. When they get to the beach, it’s indeed a beautiful scene. The waves gently crash along the shore and the smell of sea mist fills the air. Elio takes off his shoes to dig his toes into the smooth, white sand.

“I thought you’d be used to the seaside,” Oliver comments, a little awkwardly. “Since you’re half-Italian and lived there and all that.”

“I haven’t been to the beach in a while,” Elio replies, cautiously. “I’ve got… I’ve got to see specialists regularly if you know what I mean.”

He sits down on the sand, looking at the last few vestiges of the sunset coloring the sky a distinctive purple. According to advertisements, the sunset in San Junipero is supposed to be more beautiful than anywhere in the world. Elio doesn’t know if he believes the claim, but if it’s true, that’s depressing.

“So, you’re not a permanent resident. I guess that means you’re in as bad a condition as I am?” Oliver asks with a laugh. The laugh sounds hollow, fake and even somewhat pained. Didn’t he turn his pain settings to zero?

Maybe he doesn’t want to turn his pain settings down. Some people in San Junipero are like that, Elio has met them… but he usually doesn’t talk with them for long. It’s masochistic. Why wouldn’t you take advantage of new technology, why wouldn’t you want your body to feel weightless again, healthy, and whole? Even if it’s just for a few hours?

Then again, some people want a reminder tying them to life, and even if it’s just the reminder of pain and illness.

…and there are some pains you can’t erase. Emotional pains. Elio’s father would be so much better at putting those feelings into words. His father is a more eloquent man than Elio will ever be. A few years ago, his father would have quipped that practice made perfect.

But that was a few years ago.

If Elio mentioned it now, he’d just make his father sad. He doesn’t want to see his father, red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks, ask him whether he knew how loved he is.

Yes, Elio knows.

Somehow, that makes it much worse.

Elio sighs and rests his head on Oliver’s shoulder, inhaling the smell of pine-scented fabric softener, cheap perfume and something that makes his nose wrinkle and reminds him of…

“You want one, too?” Oliver asks, holding a pack of cigarettes.

“You smoke?” Elio asked, incredulously. “Really? Don’t you know how unhealthy it is?”

The corners of Oliver’s mouth start twitching and what starts out as an amused grin quickly turns into a full-bellied laugh. “Are you going to lecture me on the dangers of smoking? What do I have to be afraid of?”

“I’m sorry, that was stupid,” Elio mumbles, feeling his cheeks heat up and turn red. “I just don’t particularly like the smell,” he adds.

“I mean, you get used to it. After a while, you don’t even smell it anymore,” Oliver says.

Elio is not sure whether it’s supposed to be an explanation or a defense of his habit. ‘Boomers,’ he thinks and resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“To be fair,” Oliver adds, “I haven’t had a cigarette in the longest time. I’ve only started smoking again here.”

“Oh, so you are disciplined in real life?” Elio asks, trying to tease out some personal details. “And your form of rebellion is… what? Smoking cigarettes?”

Oliver lights the cigarette and takes a long drag, before turning to face Elio. He doesn’t answer for a few seconds, just looks at Elio with a peculiar expression. He finally says, “I suppose you are my form of rebellion now.”

It could have easily been a joke. A raised eyebrow or a slight twitch of the lips would have sufficed to inject an ironic undertone into the sentence.

But Oliver—

“I suppose you are my form of rebellion now.”

Oliver had said it without a trace of humor in his voice. On the contrary, he’s dead serious. 

“I’ve never been anybody’s form of rebellion before,” Elio says. “You are aware that the times have changed, aren’t you?”

Oliver shrugs and takes another drag of his cigarette, as though he could put off answering Elio’s question forever if he just continued smoking. “The times have changed, yeah,” he says. “But not for me. I haven’t… I didn’t think I’d meet—"

“It’s okay,” Elio interrupts him. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he adds. “Forget I said anything, I didn’t want to make this difficult for you. This is supposed to be fun, right?”

“Fun,” Oliver echoes. “But is it fun if you ignore the things that make you unhappy if you just ignore… I mean, I… this is just a holiday for me. Then why am I so confused?”

“Wait,” Elio says. “You mean you don’t want to stay permanently? Why not? That’s the point of it all, isn’t it?”

Oliver’s jaws are clenched as though words want to claw their way out of his throat. “I don’t want to talk about it right now,” he forces out.

“I shouldn’t have asked, right?” Elio says. “I ruined the whole evening, didn’t I?”

“No, you didn’t. Please, don’t feel sorry for asking, it’s natural to be curious. I just… my condition is difficult to explain. Or at least it feels difficult to explain. If you visited me, it’d be easier.”

“You mean, visit you… outside?”

Oliver nods. “Then you’d see why I have trouble articulating my feelings.”

“Wouldn’t that be suspicious? I mean, your family might have questions.”

“I haven’t had any family member drop by in years, not since my sister died three years ago. My mother has dementia. As far as I know, she wouldn’t even recognize me if she visited me. And from what I last heard, my father is still the mean-spirited bigot he’s always been, so I doubt he’d spontaneously change his mind and visit me. We’ll be fine.”

Elio furrows his brows. Something is not quite adding up… “How old are you if your parents are still alive?”

“Old enough for this,” Oliver answers, gesturing to their surroundings.

Everything they see is an illusion, and yet it’s done so well, it’s so hyper-realistic, that you start to feel like the real world is the illusion. Maybe it’s due to Elio’s illness, but only in San Junipero does he feel truly alive.

Then again, isn’t that the intention? In the commercials for San Junipero, they use a song from the 1980s called ‘Heaven is a Place on Earth’. Elio thinks the lyrics are awfully sarcastic.

“Of course, it’s not just a question of age,” Oliver continues, stubbing out his cigarette. He lies down on his back, looking up into the night sky with its myriads of stars. “It’s a question of illness, really. Of need. And it’s your doctor who decides whether you qualify for San Junipero or not… such a Christian motive, don’t you think? If you suffer enough you will be rewarded by getting to go to heaven.”

“Unless you apply for permanent residency. Everyone qualifies for that,” Elio says, hating the way he unintentionally uses the same euphemisms as the commercials. ‘Applying for permanent residency’ just means ‘dying’.

“But we don’t know what would happen if we don’t apply for permanent residency,” Oliver says. “What if it might be even better? What do you think?”

“I’m not sure what you want to hear from me,” Elio confesses. “Let’s be honest, nobody knows the answer. If people knew what happened after we die, nobody would have come up with San Junipero. Here’s the thing, we just don’t know. It might be better, it might be worse, and there might be nothing. But… as a species, we hate uncertainty, and that’s why they invented the technology to make San Junipero possible. We want certainty.”

“We want certainty,” Oliver repeats slowly, as though Elio hadn’t spoken English with him, but a completely foreign language. “Certainty,” he says once again. “So, according to your theory, we’re the first generation of humans who can experience certainty after we die? Don’t you think that’s unfair to all the people who’ve lived and died before us?”

Elio pauses and licks his lips, not knowing what to reply to Oliver’s questions. Looking up into the night sky, he remembers something his father had told him, once, before their life got turned upside down by a diagnosis.

“If your faith in something is strong enough, there’s no significant distinction between true certainty and mere belief in a concept,” Elio says. “Uh, did that make any sense at all?” he adds awkwardly. His father would have been able to express the main idea more eloquently.

Despite Elio’s less-than-perfect explanation, Oliver hums his approval. “Yes,” he mumbles. “If your faith is strong enough, I suppose. But what if you don’t have it in you to believe in anything anymore? What if faith is not an option anymore? What if I… what if I  _ deserve _ what happened to me?”

“Oliver, please stop that. You seem like a good person, alright? Anyway, if you were right, I don’t know what I did to deserve what’s happening to me.” Elio swallows against the lump in his throat and wraps his arms around himself.

Right now, his parents are watching his unconscious form while he spends his precious few hours per week at San Junipero. His mother and father are probably biting their lips and their nails as they count Elio’s breaths, dreading the day their son won’t regain consciousness anymore.

“You seem like a good person, too,” Oliver says quietly, reaching out to interlace his fingers with Elio’s. “I’m sorry if I’m angsty, but I’ve spent a lot of time alone in my thoughts. It’s hard to convince myself I didn’t deserve what’s happened to me. There is no cure, you know… of course, we’re in the same boat, so to speak, so you know what it’s like when your own body turns against you, intent on self-destruction. It feels like you’re being betrayed by an old friend, don’t you think?”

Elio nods and feels tears spring to his eyes. Oliver put the injustice and loneliness into words, the moment when every safety net you’ve built for yourself over the years turns to ashes. Suddenly, all bets are off… he’s felt like this ever since he first got his diagnosis. 

Elio wonders whether his parents have liked Oliver if they had a chance to get to know him? If Oliver were just a man he’d met somewhere, would his parents have approved of the strange, wonderful, scary, and fascinating friendship that’s developing between Elio and Oliver?

His parents would have loved Oliver, Elio realizes.

Love…

If you care about someone, it’s a constant invitation to do better, his mother once said. A constant invitation to improve yourself to continue being worthy of them.

Sitting next to Oliver, feeling the warmth of his body, hearing his deep, even breaths, Elio rests his head on Oliver’s chest. He finds comfort in listening to Oliver’s heartbeat, so strong, so regular, so deceptively real…

Elio closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, inhaling the scents around him. The fresh, unmistakable smell of the ocean breeze intermingles with Oliver’s aftershave. Yes, he thinks. A constant invitation to do better.

He’s finally found it.

It’s just bittersweetly ironic that he’s found it too late.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: The Major Character Death tag applies to this chapter!

Elio checks the address twice. He’s going to meet Oliver for the first time in real life, outside of the simulation.

All along, they’ve been living in the same city and hadn’t known it. What is Oliver going to look like? Elio’s never met anyone he knows in San Junipero in the “real” world.

Nobody has ever recognized him either. After all, Elio looks nearly the same as he does in the simulation. Still, maybe people think they encountered Elio’s grandson, not Elio himself.

Too depressing to consider the alternative.

Elio enters the hospital. As he’s approaching the front desk, he checks his reflection in the glass of the revolving door. Does he look sicker than usual? Then again, who can look sicker than someone with terminal cancer? Why does he care what he looks like?

Let people see it…

No.

One might call it vanity, but Elio doesn’t like the looks people give him when they realize how sick he is. No, ‘doesn’t like’ is too weak a verb. He needs a sentiment with teeth sharp enough to tear flesh apart. He detests the looks people give him when they realize how sick he is when they stop thinking of Elio as an ordinary young man and start labeling him as a ‘poor, pitiful creature’.

But what do they know? Have they ever seen San Junipero? Have they ever experienced the joys of visiting man-made heaven?

Elio takes a deep breath and walks up to the front desk. “Hello,” he says, hoping his voice doesn’t shake as much as his hands. “My name is Elio Perlman. I have an appointment to visit Mr. Oliver Goldfarb.”

The receptionist - her nametag identifies her as Chiara - gives him a sympathetic look. “That’s nice,” she says. “Mr. Goldfarb rarely gets visitors, you know? He hasn’t had one in years.”

Elio is not surprised. Oliver has said as much. “I know,” he replies. “So, I suppose it’s time someone visited him again, right?”

Chiara smiles, and Elio starts to think that she had to have been beautiful when she was young. No, he corrects himself: She’s still beautiful.

Once again, his father could have expressed such thoughts in a much more eloquent way.

Chiara leads him into a ward for patients with ‘permanent conditions’ - Elio wonders if that’s a euphemism for people with terminal illnesses. At his hospital, he gets his treatments in a similar ward. It’s interesting how some people still want to lie to you and your relatives even when the diagnosis is already fixed and unchangeable.

There is nothing they can do to save you.

Welcome to San Junipero.

Elio takes a deep breath and follows Chiara. His heart is beating quickly, his palms are starting to sweat, and he realizes he’s wondering whether he’s looking good or not.

That’s a bit of a stupid thing to ask himself, Elio knows. Most of all, he looks sick. At least he knows Oliver is going to look sick as well. Sick, and probably older than Elio.

A troubling thought occurs to him - hopefully, he’s not going to shock Oliver by his appearance. Most people in San Junipero look young, but they aren’t. Elio is probably one of the few people who regularly spend their Saturday nights in San Junipero who looks his age.

He's never actually told Oliver his age; it's usually taboo to ask people about their age, they're illnesses and whether they're even still alive or not - although the permanent residents can usually tell if you're just passing through because they only see you on Saturday nights.

Elio takes a deep breath in a futile attempt at calming his nerves and follows Chiara into a hospital room.

Sunlight is streaming into the room, illuminating the form of a man who's lying on the single bed in the room.

He's old, Elio realizes, older than his father.

His hands are shaking as he steps closer to the hospital bed, anxious to get a good look at the man he can't stop thinking about ever since they first met each other.

Oliver's skin is pale, a lot paler than he's seen it in San Junipero where he's sporting a sunkissed summer tan. His blond hair has gone almost completely grey, he has wrinkles, and his muscles are a lot less developed than Elio is used to.

The one thing that hasn't changed is the color of Oliver's eyes. They're still the same blue Elio’s used to.

When Elio steps into Oliver’s field of vision, Oliver barely reacts.

He only blinks.

"Hey," Elio said softly. "I promised I'd come and visit, so here I am." He smiles at Oliver and reaches out, placing one of his hands on Oliver's lower arm. The skin is sallow and papery.

Elio’s smile turns from friendly to bittersweet as Oliver doesn't do anything. The only reaction Elio gets is another blink. Elio isn't even sure it's a reaction, maybe he's reading too much into things.

A little helplessly, Elio turns to Chiara. "Can he see me? Or hear me? Does he know I'm here?"

"He's fully conscious in case you're wondering," Chiara supplies with a warm smile. It occurs to Elio that she's never asked how Elio even knows Oliver... she can probably guess anyway. 

How would Oliver meet new people these days except in San Junipero?

"We communicate via the intercom," Chiara says, gesturing to a sleek electronic device on Oliver's bedside table. "I can hook you up if you want. I'm sure Oliver would want to talk to you."

Elio looks back down at Oliver.

Oliver blinks again, and this time, Elio realizes it's not a random act at all.

Elio smiles again and gently caresses the skin of Oliver's underarm. "You want to talk?" he asks.

Oliver blinks.

"Over the intercom? Or wait, I know something that would be even better." He turns to Chiara. "What about San Junipero?"

Her eyes widen in surprise. "Patients aren't allowed to spend more than five hours a week at San Junipero. It would be against the rules and I'm not sure… I mean," she awkwardly trails off, wringing her hands.

"I understand your dilemma," Elio says quietly. "You want to do your job well, and you want to follow the rules, but don't you think it's a bit unfair? I know all the arguments, too much time spent at San Junipero can potentially make people who are alive appreciate this world less, but do you really think that's going to be an issue here?"

Chiara bites her bottom lip. A strand of her graying hair has escaped her bun and she tucks it back behind her ear. "I'm really not supposed to—"

"I know," Elio says. "But please, it's not for a long time, I'd just really like to talk to Oliver in San Junipero. Please."

Chiara sighs close the door, and gestures for Elio to be quiet. "Okay," she whispers. "Alright. Fifteen minutes, no more. That's all I can do for you."

"Thank you," Elio says, hardly able to suppress a triumphant grin. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep a straight face in order to not ruin his success.

After Chiara's assured herself that the coast is clear, she gets out two of the small white temple applicators which enable people to connect to San Junipero.

Elio has always found it incredibly interesting - such a small device, yet so incredibly powerful and advanced. Funny… mankind had developed artificial heaven, and you could upload your consciousness into the cloud, but they’ve neither found a cure for the illness ravaging Elio's body, nor a therapy for Oliver’s condition.

It was somewhat poetic, in a beautifully frustrating way. Science can’t defeat death, but science can take away people's fear of death.

Chiara places one small white applicator on Oliver’s temple before she does the same for Elio. The gel is cold as it makes contact with his skin and he shivers a little.

The shivers intensify and tingles engulf his whole head as his eyelids flutter shut…

A second later, he wakes up in the living room of his house in San Junipero. Or his childhood home, depending on how you look at it. The house is so familiar; it takes him back to careless days in Crema, the North Italian flair making his heart long for easier times.

The house in San Junipero is an exact replica of the one in Crema, built with the help of his own memories according to a complex technical process. Elio hadn't quite understood it all when the representative from TCKR enterprises had explained it to him.

In any case, the house is a perfect replica, but the sounds and smells Elio remembers from his childhood are missing. There's no Mafalda preparing delicious food in the kitchen, there's no delightful smell of peach trees in full bloom wafting in through the window.

He sighs, squares his shoulders and runs his fingers through his hair.

Oliver ought to be in San Junipero as well by now. 

"Oliver?" Elio calls out. "Are you there yet?"

"Out here!"

Elio follows the sound of Oliver's voice and finds him in the middle of the peach orchard near the small swimming pool. Oliver looks young again, in his twenties. And he’s happy if the bright smile on his face is any indication.

Tears sting Elio's eyes.

"You really came to visit me," Oliver laughs, shaking his head slightly. "Also, for the record, I'm impressed you managed to talk Chiara into letting us have a few minutes here. She's usually very, very strict when it comes to the time I'm allowed to spend here."

"Yeah, I noticed," Elio says with a small, rueful smile. "But you know, I can be very convincing when I want to be."

"Yeah, I noticed," Oliver says, mirroring Elio's grin. His gaze softens. "I'm so glad you came to visit. You have no idea how much this means to me," he whispers.

"It's alright," Elio says, feeling the blood rush into his cheeks due to the flattery, even though visiting friends in the hospital is nothing special. Elio is about to tell Oliver that, too, but then he remembers what Chiara's told him: Oliver hasn't had a visitor in years. Elio is special in that respect.

"I’m sorry, by the way," Oliver says awkwardly. “I guess I should have told you about… me.”

Elio shakes his head. "I suppose I should have told you, too. About my age."

Oliver swallows. "We're in San Junipero, everyone around here has some sort of tragic backstory.”

"So," Elio begins and reaches out to take Oliver's hand in his, linking their fingers together. "What's yours?

Oliver sighs, squeezing Elio’s hand. He closes his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath. When he opens his eyes again, his face is riddled with deep-seated pain and regrets.

“I grew up in quite a conservative family,” he says. “Once I hit puberty and started to figure out that I like boys… well, I guess you can imagine. Or can you? You’re a lot younger than I am, maybe your parents are a lot more tolerant than mine ever were.”

“My parents are both bisexual and they have an open marriage,” Elio says. “Me being bi was kind of a non-issue. They were adamant about me knowing how to use protection and of course, they taught me about consent and respect, but the gender of the people I was attracted to never mattered to them.”

Oliver listens intently. Wistfulness mars the perfect symmetry of his features until Elio can see traces of the man he’s about to become, the face and body of the man into which he’ll age over the decades.

“That sounds nice,” Oliver admits, biting his lower lip. “It makes me wonder what would have happened if things had been different for me, but I’ve already wasted enough time wondering ‘What if?’ I used to stick to dating girls and trying to ignore my attraction to men as best as I could.” Oliver lets out a self-deprecating chuckle. “It went about as well as you’d think. When I was twenty-three, I fell head over heels in love with a man. His name was Ethan and he liked me too. I thought I’d found perfection, you know? But… well, I guess sometimes life just is like that and… long story short, my parents found out about me and Ethan and they practically disowned me. I knew it would happen if they ever found out, but I still loved them, in a weird, twisted way. This blatant rejection by the people who were supposed to love me unconditionally - it messed with me. Ethan rightfully said I should let go of those feelings. He said I needed to heal and accept their rejection.

Oliver draws a shaky breath, freeing his hand from Elio’s grip. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.

“He was right, of course, he was right, but at the time I was too angry to listen to him. We fought and we both said things we weren’t proud of… I never got the chance to apologize, but… I said I needed some time alone to vent and that we’d talk later when I was in a better headspace for a tough conversation. Ethan agreed I took the car keys and because I didn’t know where to go, I was just driving around without a clear goal in mind. I used to be a very reckless driver and I had no concern for safety. Why would I? I was young, I felt practically invincible. But that night, I was angry at everything and everyone, and in particular, I was angry at myself. Why could my parents still make me care so much? They’d inspired so much shame and self-hatred in me, they’d led to me picking a fight with my boyfriend… it’s… I totally underestimated a turn in the road. Before I knew it, I’d lost control of the car. I mean, you’ve seen me. The look on Ethan’s face when he came to visit me in Intensive Care for the first time, I’ll never forget that. He was devastated. The last time we’d truly spoken to each other had been a nasty fight and there was no way to make it up to each other, not like before. There was no San Junipero, back then.”

“But Chiara said she can communicate with you via the intercom,” Elio cuts in. “It’s not the same, of course, but you would have been able to talk.”

Oliver licks his lips. “Sometimes I forget you’re so much younger than I am,” he says. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to sound mean. For the longest time, there was no intercom system. The science wasn’t advanced enough. The hospital only got that technology a few years ago.”

“And did you talk to Ethan then?” Elio asks. As soon as the words have left his mouth, he bites his tongue. Oliver rarely gets visits, Chiara said.

“I like to think I could have told him I was sorry and that I’d learned from my mistakes but… there was no known therapy for my injuries. In time, Ethan moved on. He didn’t stop visiting me, but he had other partners. I don’t blame him, and at the time, I was okay with it, but… well, in hindsight, I wish he hadn’t—” Oliver’s voice breaks. He closes his eyes, massaging his temples. Oliver’s fingers are shaking slightly, and Elio’s heart hurts just looking at him.

Elio can picture it so clearly - Ethan continuing to visit Oliver but feeling more and more estranged over time. They would have drifted apart, slowly but surely. At some point, Ethan had probably met someone else, who was easier to love and he eventually moved on for good.

“And you never talked to each other after the intercom system was established?” Elio asks. “I imagine it would have helped you both a lot.”

Oliver shakes his head. “If he could have visited me then, I suppose he would have done so,” he says. “Ethan died in 1991. AIDS. He must have gotten infected sometime after my accident. He… kept visiting me until he was too sick to do so. I watched him suffer and I couldn’t do anything to help him. I couldn’t do anything—” Oliver’s voice cracks.

“I’m so sorry,” Elio whispers.

“And now I’m just so confused,” Oliver says, pacing up and down on the lawn. “I thought I’d just check out San Junipero, have some of the fun life has denied me, but… I never thought I’d meet someone like you. I thought I’d had my one chance at happiness and that I’d blown it long ago. And now you come along and I feel like I might... I didn’t know you could get a second chance like that.”

Elio’s lower lip trembles. “But there’s a problem, right? What is it?”

“San Junipero is an incredible invention,” Oliver says. “No doubt about it. But, from the moment I first got to experience it, I kept asking myself if I even deserve to be here. I… Ethan didn’t get the chance to live on. Why do I get a choice? Just because I’ve lived longer? It’s beautiful here, and I want nothing more than to spend my time here getting to know you, but I can’t help thinking that I don’t deserve the chance.” A tear rolls down Oliver’s cheek. “If the love of my life didn’t get a chance to experience this, why should I?” he continues. “Why should I choose to pass over and… wouldn’t it be like forgetting the man I loved?”

Oliver is looking at him with wild, desperate eyes, searching for an answer he won’t find in the blooming peach orchard.

Elio cannot offer him an answer, so all he does is open his arms in a gesture of silent invitation. Oliver wraps his arms around Elio’s waist and lets himself be held, shaking with tears.

While Oliver is crying tears of relief, Elio gently caresses Oliver’s back, running his hand through Oliver’s hair and collects his thoughts.

“First of all, I want you to imagine something for a second. Can you do that for me?” Elio asks.

Oliver nods, wiping his eyes. “Sorry for getting so emotional, I… as you can imagine, I don’t often get the opportunity to talk about it.”

“Okay, please imagine you didn’t have that discussion with your parents, you didn’t have that argument with Ethan, none of that happened. Instead, imagine the roles were reversed. Imagine for just a second that Ethan crashed his car and wound up in your situation. Would you have felt bad for him if he’d chosen San Junipero?”

“Of course not,” Oliver protests. “I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I’d taken away his chance at… I won’t lie, it’s difficult, but I understand that people have… I wasn’t really able to… I was actually happy when he told me that he’d been dating new people.”

Oliver wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. “Our relationship changed so much. In hindsight, I’d have preferred it if he hadn’t moved on to other men, of course, if only because then he wouldn’t have… what I’m trying to say, I was okay with the choices Ethan made, it made sense for him and it wasn’t as though we didn’t keep loving each other. I wouldn’t have wanted him to completely erase a part of his life... I wouldn’t have wanted him to stop living his life the way he wanted to…”

Elio locks eyes with Oliver. “I think you have your answer.”

Oliver blinks and nods. He looks surprised, as though he hadn’t thought that the answer was already there, he just hadn’t been looking at the issue from the right angle to see it.

With a start, Elio realizes he’s basically copied his father’s discussion style, trying to ask the right questions and letting your conversation partner discover the answer for themselves.

In a way, he’s proud of himself for helping Oliver, but he also knows he won’t share that achievement with his parents.

It would only make them more upset in the long run. It would only hurt them more to hear that Elio was hitting… well, perhaps not relationship milestones, but personal development milestones.

Oliver reaches for Elio’s hand. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Let me guess, it’s about my age?” Elio says with a wry grin.

Oliver shrugs a little sheepishly. “Yeah, I suppose that’s not the biggest surprise. I expected you to be my age, maybe even a little older, but you don’t look older than you do here in San Junipero.”

“I mean, I don’t exactly go around and advertise it,” Elio says in a weak attempt at a joke. “I’m nineteen. As for why I get to be here… the cancer’s spread practically everywhere.”

Oliver squeezes his hand. “I’m so sorry,” he says softly. “May I ask uh… how long…?”

“They said three months, but they said that four months ago. I honestly don’t know,” Elio whispers.

“You don’t have it planned?” Oliver asks.

“You do have it planned?” Elio retorts.

Oliver doesn’t meet his eyes for a moment. “Well, I thought I had it planned,” he admits, shuffling his feet. “Chiara and I were going to get married in a few weeks’ time. After that, she’d have been able to sign the papers necessary for uh… well, for stopping it all.”

“In a few weeks’ time,” Elio repeats numbly. “And you weren’t going to pass over and become a permanent San Junipero resident.”

Oliver’s bottom lip quivers as he answers, “I’m not so sure anymore.”

Elio pulls him into a hug, relishing the feel of Oliver’s body. “As I said,” he begins, “I think you’ve found your answer already. But… Chiara said she’d marry you? I’m not going to criticize you, but why her?”

“You may not have noticed it, but my opportunities are limited. Chiara is the closest thing I have to a friend in the real world and I’m glad she agreed to do this for me. It might be a little unorthodox, but I don’t exactly have a lot of choices, do I?”

Elio shrugs, ostensibly nonchalantly. “But Chiara is not your only option. You’ve got more friends than her,” he counters.

“Oh?” Oliver asks. 

“Shouldn’t you be getting married to someone who cares about you… someone who cares about you a whole lot… I can think of someone who’d do that for you, that is if you’d want it, too…?” he awkwardly trails off.

Elio’s cheeks redden with shame and embarrassment. Sometimes, he wishes the simulation wasn’t as well done as it is. Fighting against his anxiety, Elio feels the blood rushing in his ears as he gets down on one knee. Biting his lip, he shoots Oliver a questioning glance.

“ _Oh_ ,” Oliver says.

* * *

_One week later_

The wedding is a quick affair.

Elio hasn’t told his parents about it. The association with death and dying would be too much for them. He can easily picture his parents holding back their tears, telling him how they’d always imagined their son getting married in completely different circumstances.

Elio puts his signature on the marriage certificate, making him a married man.

Barely ten minutes later, he puts his signature on the form which will make him a widower.

He signs off on the request for assisted euthanasia, giving the hospital staff permission to switch off Oliver’s life support.

It’s 3:19 pm on a Saturday afternoon.

Elio kisses Oliver’s cheek, careful not to disturb the small white button connecting his fading consciousness to San Junipero.

“I’ll see you in a few hours,” he whispers as the light fades from Oliver’s eyes.

Tears cloud Elio’s vision.

He entered the hospital as a bachelor.

He’ll leave it as a widower.

Life has a way of being absurd in the most heartbreaking circumstances.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has left kudos and/or commented so far! <3

As Elio discovers, TCKR enterprises offer a widower's benefit. He hadn't even thought of it when he'd offered to marry Oliver in Chiara's stead. He only becomes aware of it when Chiara mentions him.

"I don't know if I should tell you to enjoy your honeymoon or not," Chiara says a little awkwardly as she guides Elio back to the hospital's exit.

Elio startles. Chiara’s right. Technically, once Elio returns to San Junipero this evening, he and Oliver would be on their honeymoon. It seems twisted and odd, but by now twistedness and oddity have become his new normal.

"Won't be much of a honeymoon, right?" Elio replies. "If we have to space it out over a couple of hours each week, I mean?"

Chiara stops and gives him a strange look.

Elio swallows against the lump in his throat. He's not sure if Oliver told her about his diagnosis, but if he's going to say something along the lines of 'Well, it's not like you're going to be apart for very long' then he's not sure what he'll do. She'd be right, of course, but a part of him feels like it'd be tactless of her to mention it so off-handedly.

Then again, she works surrounded by patients with diagnoses as bleak as Elio's.

It's probably a part of her routine by now, and really, he should have made peace with his fate by now. At least the doctors said it wouldn't hurt.

Elio hopes it's true.

(With a start, he realizes he can ask Oliver... he can ask his dead husband whether dying hurts.)

Chiara is still giving him a strange look.

"But you don't need to space it out over weeks," she says. "You have a marriage certificate now. And a certificate of death because your spouse passed away, right?"

"Yes?" Elio says uncertainly, clutching the documents to his chest. He's not sure what he'll do with them. Perhaps they'll just be a sentimental and decidedly morbid souvenir.

"Well, scan the document and send it to TCKR," Chiara says with a shrug. "They'll up your limit. You're entitled to five hours a day now, the five-hour-per-week limit is for people who don't have a partner who’s already passed over. I thought you knew?"

"No," Elio mumbles. He truly hadn't known. He supposes it would have been hidden somewhere in the lengthy contract he'd signed soon after he's gotten his diagnosis. The consultant from TCKR enterprises probably hadn't bothered to explain the limit due to Elio's age.

Well, that had been  _ then _ .

_ Now _ ... now things are different.

He tightens his grip on the folder in his hand, containing the two certificates. Maybe the 'honeymoon phase' isn’t so out of place.

Getting to visit San Junipero more often means Elio must give his parents an explanation. If he didn’t, they might think TCKR upped his limit because his condition has worsened.

In and of itself, it's a bit of a stupid rule in Elio’s opinion. He's already dying and unless a miracle cure would be developed tomorrow, nothing will stop him from dying. And yet… and yet TCKR has been firm.

Five hours a week.

Not more, but not less.

Five blessed hours.

Elio reads through the paperwork in the cab he's taking home. He prefers avoiding the subway these days because of the looks he's getting. He'd been handsome once, and people's looks had followed him for that reason, but now? Illness had worn away at his handsome features and the longer the sickness continues waging war against his body, the more apparent it becomes. Everyone can see that Elio is not well. He doesn't want the sympathetic glances, nor does he want the awkward smiles people offer him. He gets enough of those at home.

Elio flexes his fingers. He'd held Oliver's hand while he was passing over. Oliver's thin fingers with their pale, paper-thin skin riddled with age-spots were such a contrast to the strong, capable hands of the man Elio had gotten to know in San Junipero.

Does Oliver regret passing over? Elio will have to ask him once they can spend time together in the evening, once they'll... Chiara would have probably called it their wedding night, Elio realizes and flushes against his will. It's not like they have much to celebrate, he tells himself. It wasn't even a real wedding, it was a gesture from a friend to another friend.

It doesn't mean anything.

Except...

It means something to the law.

The certificates in his hand have real-world-implications.

As Chiara had said, TCKR enterprises are going to consider Elio as widowed now, allowing him to spend more time with his deceased husband.

He wonders if Oliver had known that.

Probably not, since he hadn't had a loved one in San Junipero he could have looked forward to meeting again.

Well, until he'd met Elio...

And Elio finds himself thinking that passing over doesn't seem so scary and final anymore, now that he has Oliver to look forward to.

* * *

People want certainty, Oliver had said on the beach. They want to know what awaits them after death.

At the time, Elio had thought of 'certainty' as being a beautiful sea-side town with the opportunity to meet new people and have fun. Nothing out of the ordinary, but not bad.

Now, 'certainty' has acquired a new meaning and Elio thinks of the tentative but unguarded smile on Oliver's features after they'd first made love and promised each other they would meet again.

Whatever the future holds, Elio consoles himself with the knowledge that Oliver will be in it.

He won't have to start over completely new. And when it's time... he'll have a friend waiting on the other side.

* * *

TCKR enterprises respond quickly, Elio learns. He messages them the necessary documents and in their reply, TCRK tells him they'll update his device within the next few hours.

That, of course, means he needs to tell his parents right away.

At home, his mother greets him with a look that's become customary. Her eyes reflect a mixture of preoccupation and pain, mixed together with a hefty portion of guilt. For what, Elio doesn't know.

Elio's father is in his office, his mother says, correcting essays submitted by his students.

Elio nods, knowing it means he'll find his father sitting at his desk, an untouched coffee cup sitting beside him with the beverage long gone cold. He'll be surrounded by a huge stack of printed pages, a red-colored pen perched precariously over the paper in imitation of productivity.

His father has a difficult time focusing on his work these days, not that Elio can blame him. The university has offered him the possibility to take time off "until all this blows over", they'd said. It was the wording that had made Samuel Perlman dig his heels in.

"Until all this blows over" is code for "until your son has died" and Elio's father has not yet come to terms with it.

Elio, on the other hand, has. At least he thinks so.

Oliver will be waiting for him.

He won't be alone.

And his parents won't be alone either. They'll have each other, and given enough time, Elio knows they'll be okay without him.

They have to be.

He's just not sure if his parents will understand that, too.

He takes a deep breath and asks his mother to fetch Elio's father. “I’ve got something to tell you.”

The way his mother's face falls, the way she suppresses a flinch tells him his words have scared her. Elio berates himself. He's just come from the hospital - he'd said he was visiting a friend, but the certificates in his hand and his solemn tone of voice probably tell a different story.

"Don't worry," he says, trying to smile. "It's not bad, I promise."

As his mother nods and hurries upstairs to get his father, Elio sits down on the sofa in their living room. Staring at both the marriage and the death certificate in his hand... hasn't he just technically lied to his mother? He'll have to tell them they had a son-in-law for a grand total of sixteen minutes, a son-in-law they've never even gotten to know.

The impulsivity of what he's done strikes him all of a sudden, making his cheeks burn with shame.

Proposing to Oliver, helping him, it had seemed like such a natural decision to make... perhaps that's what you do if you have little left to lose.

Elio's mother returns with his father in tow. They take a seat opposite their son and their gazes are alternating between hopeful and cautious.

Elio has promised them no bad news, but that doesn't necessarily mean he has good news.

His confidence in his decision falters as he hands his parents the two certificates. "I, uh... I did a thing today," he says awkwardly, not quite knowing how he should put it into words. "It was a favor to a friend," he adds, swallowing because he can't figure out another way to put it into words.

He's not in love with Oliver - they haven't known each other long enough to call it love. Infatuation, though? Yes. And in the grand scheme of things, Elio supposes infatuation is responsible for at least as many irresponsible and impulsive decisions as love is. People just aren't sure what to call it, in retrospect, this emotion that prompts them to throw all caution to the wind.

"Elio," his mother whispers as her eyes scan the official documents, trying to make sense of the words. "What did you... why did you do this? Who was this Oliver?"

"He's a friend," Elio replies, defiantly using the present tense. He doesn’t want to dwell on the past, and he’s no longer afraid of the future. He won't have to face the future on his own, not when he's got Oliver to help him figure it all out.

"Was he the man you said you met?" his father asks, quick on the uptake as usual. But if things had been, as usual, his father's question would have been accompanied by an amused undertone and a conspiratorial wink, not by the exhaustion Elio can see now.

A profound feeling of sadness has carved deep lines into his father's once-youthful face and he's started going gray far earlier than he should have. The same goes for his mother, but she hides it better, under hair dye and make-up, but Elio can see Samuel and Annella Perlman have started to fade, as though the cancer that’s ravaging Elio's body is feeding off them, too.

"Yes, he's the man I met," Elio says.

He wants to tell them that Oliver's witty, that Oliver's brave, that Oliver's gorgeous, but the words are lodged in his throat. The Oliver he's starting to fall for, that Oliver firmly belongs in San Junipero now. The thin, thin line that had connected him to this life had been radically severed by Elio's signature. The Oliver his parents could have gotten to know, he's dead, having outgrown the body and the life he's lead.

_ I haven't killed him _ , he wants to tell his parents.  _ I only did what he asked me to do. I allowed him to enjoy a new life and... and the opportunity to possibly enjoy this new life with me. _

His parents’ eyes shine with a mixture of disappointment, desperation, and despair. His mother wipes at her eyes, smearing her carefully applied make-up. “What made you do it?” she repeats.

"I did the right thing for my friend," Elio says. "I did the right thing for me."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the last chapter, guys! :)
> 
> **Warning:** The Major Character Death tag applies to this chapter.

Elio recalls that meeting much later when he's with Oliver again. Oliver had talked him into a bike tour - he wanted to show him some of the beautiful places he's discovered.

They biked for about half an hour and now they’re lying on the fragrant grass next to a small creek. It's so deceptively peaceful and perfect - if Elio closes his eyes, he can pretend he's a child again. The only thing ruining the illusion is the man lying next to him on the grass, the man whose hand he's holding... but if Elio's honest with himself, he wouldn't want to remove Oliver from the scene just to create a better... what? Memory? Illusion? Dream?

Oliver always plays a critical part in Elio’s daydreams. Elio’s not quite sure what that means, but he'll go out on a limb and say it's a good thing. He ought to be able to tell – by now, he's accustomed to dealing with tragedy, heartbreak, and devastating news.

Good things are a welcome distraction. Good things like happiness, friendship, and infatuation? He's much less well-versed when it comes to those things, but as Oliver once said, they've got forever to figure it out. It should probably scare him, but for some indiscernible reason, Elio finds it a comforting.

He  _ could _ stay like this forever, he thinks, breathing in the smell of freshly cut grass and the clean, cool scent of the creek, while the sun shines down on Oliver and him.

"My mother," Elio whispers into the hot summer air, not opening his eyes. "She wants me to keep on fighting."

Oliver doesn't answer, but he squeezes Elio's hand for a long moment.

Elio takes it as a sign to keep talking. "My father wants it, too, even though he hasn't said anything. But I can tell. I can see it in the way they look at me. And they ask me all these cautious questions, as though they're afraid I might shatter if they just put it into simple words. Plain. Blunt... They want to ask me about this place. About you. But I think they’re scared of my answers.”

"And what do  _ you _ want to tell them?"

Elio hesitates for a moment. What does he want his parents to know more than anything else? "That I love them," he says. "Obviously. But I also want them to know that I'm no longer afraid. I'm no longer afraid of saying goodbye, of what comes after. How could I be afraid of  _ this _ ?" He gestures to his surroundings and rubs his thumb over the back of Oliver's hand. "I'm not afraid. So, they don't need to be afraid, either."

"They probably understand that, at least on some level," Oliver says. He shifts his body so he can face Elio and props his head up with his hand. "But that's what makes it worse for them, isn't it? You're not afraid anymore. You're telling them you'll be okay without them. For you, it’s comforting. But for them? It’s scary. Other parents have to deal with their children moving out. Your parents have to deal with their son moving  _ on _ . There's a bit of a difference.”

“So, you’re saying—”

“You’re no longer afraid of losing your parents, but your parents are afraid of losing you,” Oliver explains. “At least it sounds like that to me. They’re afraid of a life without you in it. And I guess they’re a little bit afraid of me.”

Elio shakes his head, laughing involuntarily. “Why would they be afraid of you?”

“For a start, they’ve never met me. They just know me as the man to whom their son got married in some sort of death scheme.”

Elio opens his mouth to reply but closes it again without having uttered a sound. “Uh,” he begins awkwardly. “I wouldn’t have worded it quite so drastically. For a start,  _ I _ suggested we get married. And  _ I _ convinced you to give San Junipero a try. If I hadn’t—”

“If you hadn’t, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” Oliver finishes, brushing a strand of his dirty-blond hair out of his eyes. “Obviously. But, now you’re able to spend more time in San Junipero, too. Maybe your parents thought you just got married to me so you could spend more time here without… well, without having to die just yet.”

Elio blinks in disbelief. “But I didn’t even consider that,” he says. “I didn’t know it was possible until Chiara mentioned it. I don’t think I even got that far into the contract when I first signed up for San Junipero.”

“ _ You _ know that,” Oliver replies with a sad smile, reaching out to gently caress Elio’s arm. “But do your parents know? To them, I’m just the guy who’s stealing their son away in a much more literal sense than if we were dating. Well, and I suppose your parents have another reason to be wary of me. If I did my math correctly, I’m technically older than them, aren’t I? Not that I have much life experience to show for it, but you catch my drift.”

Elio nods in acquiescence before he furrows his brows. “Wait, you said… hey, are we officially dating? Or aren’t we?” he asks.

The sound of Oliver’s laughter fills Elio’s ears and he’d feel offended if it’s not the first time he’s seen Oliver so carefree. Blood rushes into his cheeks and he’s torn between leaning closer to Oliver and backing away, tucking tail and running.

“What’s so funny?” Elio mumbles.

Oliver shrugs, still grinning. “I don’t know,” he says, reaching out to play with Elio’s hair.

Elio finally gives in to his desire to lean closer to Oliver. Why is his heart hammering as though he’s just completed a marathon, though? He’s been with Oliver before…

“It’s a funny thing to ask, I suppose,” Oliver says, running his fingers through Elio’s curls. “Given our situation. I’m perfectly happy to not label things, but well, we  _ are _ married. Technically. I know it doesn’t mean anything,” he adds quickly. “But well, I like you. And I’m glad you chose to spend your additional San Junipero time with me, you know? Because it’s not like you’re obligated to do so. TCKR won’t check.”

“I like spending time with you,” Elio says quietly, edging closer and closer to Oliver.

Finally, Oliver gets the hint and opens his arms up to Elio.

Elio crawls into the offered embrace like a shipwrecked sailor finding land after too much time adrift at sea. He buries his face in the crook where Oliver’s neck meets his shoulder, pressing his mouth to the skin of Oliver’s neck, feeling Oliver’s pulse speed up. It’s an illusion, he tells himself, but it’s such an elaborate illusion that he can’t tell the difference anymore and most of the time, he doesn’t even  _ want  _ to tell the difference and…

“Elio, are you crying?” Oliver asks, pressing a kiss to the top of Elio’s head. “It’s okay if you are, but I’d like to know if something I said made you cry or if you just… if you just need a minute—"

Elio shakes his head. “You didn’t say the wrong thing,” he rasps, voice wet with tears. He pulls away from Oliver and wipes his eyes. “I just… it  _ hurts _ , you know?”

“What hurts?”

“Everything? Being alive, my body, outside of this… it gets more difficult every day,” he confesses. “You remember the conversation we had on the beach? About how people want certainty?”

Oliver nods.

“Well, I… I’m no longer afraid,” Elio says. “Of dying, I mean.”

Oliver starts rubbing soothing circles into the skin of Elio’s lower back. Oliver’s palms are ever so slightly calloused from gripping the bike’s handle and it sends shivers down Elio’s spine, despite the warm weather.

“I’ve tried telling them it’s beautiful here, but they don’t… if they only understood that I’ll be  _ fine _ , eventually.”

“Hey,” Oliver whispers. “You love your parents, don’t you? And I’m sure they love you. They want what’s best for you and if it’s… if it’s saying goodbye, for better or worse, then that’s that. But that doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy.”

“Is doing the right thing ever easy?” Elio asks, torn between smiling at the contradiction and sobbing at the bitter truth. “I don’t want them to be in pain,” he continues in a somber tone. “But I will hurt them once I… once I pass over. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t, isn’t it?”

“I learned one thing,” Oliver says. “If you truly love each other, the pain of saying goodbye won’t be permanent. Grief only has that kind of power over you if you permit it.”

“So, what would you suggest?” Elio asks, voice barely more than a whisper withering away in the sweet summer air.

“I suggest you talk to your parents and explain your reasons, just as you explained them to me,” Oliver says. “Tell the whole truth and don’t lie. Lying might get you further than you ever thought it would, but it certainly won’t make you happy or even just content in the long run.”

“But what if the result is ugly?” Elio asks. “What if I tell the truth and I just hurt them more than I would have if I… if I just—”

“If you let them believe a lie until you died?”

* * *

And so, Elio talks to his parents, telling them about San Junipero…

_ …the bars filled with young, desperate people, moonlit beaches at night, the scent of sweet-smelling cologne clinging to beautiful bodies… _

He tells them about his thoughts on life and death…

… _ the blood-curdling fear which has given way to a sense of calm acceptance, the certainty he’s going to be okay, the surreal notion of a man-made afterlife, almost too perfect but just messed up enough to be realistic… _

And finally, he tells them about Oliver…

_ …gold-blond hair, blue eyes, tan skin stretching over lean muscle, a full-bellied laugh, kind eyes and a caring heart, searing kisses, and too-earnest promises… _

It’s almost too easy to gush over Oliver and when Elio catches himself doing so, he flushes a bright red. But it must have worked. For the first time since his diagnosis, his parents’ smiles are not pained and sympathetic, but conspiratorial and impish.

“I’ll be in good hands,” Elio says. “I promise.”

* * *

Elio’s eyes flutter open.

Like Oliver had promised, it didn’t hurt.

He’d barely even noticed it when…

“Hey,” Oliver greets him.

Elio rubs his eyes and looks around. They’re in the peach orchard in front of the villa. Oliver is leaning against one of the trees, giving him a broad grin.

“Hey,” Elio echoes, torn between being shy and wanting to launch himself into Oliver’s arms.

“Ready for the rest of it?” Oliver asks, holding out his hand to Elio.

Something on his ring finger catches the light of the artificial sun in the sky above just so, and Elio realizes Oliver is wearing a wedding ring.

Elio’s heart rate speeds up as he takes the offered hand and interlaces their fingers. He grins. “We’ve got forever to figure it out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated! <3


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